A Love Like That
by Rain Minstrel
Summary: Now that Aragorn and Legolas have found each other, will their love survive the feud between their families? A/L slash! Based on Romeo and Juliet. Ch 9 up!
1. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

AN: This is an AU slash fic, based on but not wholly faithful to Romeo and Juliet. I hope you enjoy reading this, and can take the time to review! 

_Two Elven lands of great renown;_

_The _Woodland___ Realm and Rivendell.___

_In ancient feuding, they were bound –_

_Here's__ their tale to tell._

_Two star-crossed lovers in mutiny,_

_Hoped the rift to mend.___

_But__ who shall know what destiny_

_Shall be theirs in the end?_

The autumn leaves of Rivendell fell tumbling from the trees and Aragorn let out a reverent breath as he once again surveyed the scene before him.

'Home,' he murmured in rare contentment. 'Long has it been since I laid eyes on anything so fair.'

Aragorn stood gazing at the gardens being tended by the elf-maids of Rivendell. He seemed unmindful of the fact that he had just arrived, and was standing by the entrance of the last homely house in worn garb of ill repair. Travel dust lay thickly on his skin and in his hair, and several days worth of stubble shadowed his cheek. 

'I'd wager that it's not our humble dwelling you find so fair – but one elf-maid who dwells within,' came a friendly voice, and Aragorn spun around.

'Elladan!' he cried, giving his foster brother a rough embrace.

The elf returned the embrace, then gracefully stepped back to get a better look at the man.

'You've grown,' he said fondly. Then he eyed Aragorn's dishevelled state and laughed. 'And so has your hair, and so has your beard!'

'Peace, Elladan!' Aragorn grinned. 'It's been nigh on three years since I saw you last, and eighteen months since I saw any who could tell me from a mountain goat.'

A second elf, identical in face and form to the first, joined them and raised a fine dark eyebrow. 'Who's to say we can tell you from one now, Estel?'

Aragorn laughed aloud at that, and exchanged punches on the shoulder with the new arrival – their own private greeting.

'By Elbereth, it is good to see you again, Elrohir!' he said. 

'Brother is right – you have grown, Estel,' mused Elrohir, rubbing absently at his shoulder. 

'I am no longer a green youth, Elrohir,' replied Aragorn with more than a hint of satisfaction. 'I have seen twenty three summers, and by the reckoning of Men, I have come to age and then some.'

'Ah, well, yes – but you are among Elves here, and by our standards you are a veritable child! Not yet old enough to be out of swaddling cloths – ' Elrohir pretended to sniff at the air in disgust. 'Estel, are you sure you're old enough to be out of swaddling cloths?'

Elladan's sudden laughter could not be quelled, even when Aragorn shot him a murderous look.

'Peace,' he managed to gasp out, one hand holding his aching side, the other attempting to fend off an indignant Aragorn. 'Why are you taking it out on me?' he protested with exaggerated innocence. 'Elrohir was the one who said it!'

'Because,' said Elrohir smoothly, 'Estel knows well enough that I'd best him in any combat you could name!'

'We will soon find out!' growled Aragorn, turning on Elrohir. The elf neatly sidestepped the kick aimed at his lower regions, and smiling, shook his head. His burnished ebony hair shone in the fading light with the movement.

'While I have missed you, Estel, as much as you seem to have missed me, this is hardly the time to try our strengths. You have just arrived, and the Hall will hold supper in less than an hour. Come, and Elladan and I will see what we can do to make you appear presentable before Father tonight.'

'I am perfectly presentable –' began Aragorn hotly, but Elladan cut him off.

'Arwen will be at supper as usual, I suppose?' he said nonchalantly.

Both elves watched Aragorn turn a bright shade of red.

'I'd be happy for your help in making myself presentable,' he said in a strangled voice.

'That's my boy,' said Elladan tranquilly.

~~*~~

The slight awkwardness that Aragorn felt at being in civilized company again after so many years in the Wild, was nothing compared to what he felt when the Evenstar appeared in the hall, escorted by her father, the Lord Elrond.

Arwen was dressed in a deep red gown which shimmered in the plentiful candlelight. Her dark hair fell in rich waves to her waist, unbound but for the tiny pattern of braids which was the mark of Rivendell. Her eyes –  the clear, sparkling blue of winter ice – were framed by long dusky lashes. They were grave as they looked around the hall, but then she smiled, and Aragorn felt his heart constrict at the sight of her.

'Elbereth – she is beautiful,' he whispered.

'You are not the first to think so,' remarked Elrohir, who was well used to elves and men alike being bewitched by the beauty of his sister.

Aragorn ignored the comment. This close to Arwen, he could smell the lavender and rosemary scent of her hair. The thought made his throat tighten. Although he was famished after so long on travel provisions, he could find no appetite for the fine food of Rivendell.

He followed her lithe form with his eyes as she glided over to the other elf-maids and they stood in a group, quietly talking and laughing. Aragorn was entranced by her radiant figure, standing out richly amongst even the beauty of the other elven women. Once she happened to glance his way, and their eyes met for a moment.

Aragorn's breath caught at that moment, and it seemed to him that while the world around them swirled and eddied, the space between him and Arwen was crystallized as they shared that single glance. Then Arwen turned her face, and the heavy silk curtain of her hair broke the moment. Aragorn's breath exploded – he hadn't realised that he had been holding it.

Elladan nudged him indiscreetly. 'We know she's beautiful, Estel – there's no need to make a statement by acting like a pole-axed ox.'

'Save your affections for one who will return them,' said Elrohir curtly.

Aragorn turned to his foster brother, surprised at the tone of his voice, and more than a little irked.

'What mean you, Elrohir?' he demanded quietly.

'I mean,' said Elrohir with barely restrained frustration, 'that there is no use lusting after Arwen, except to amuse yourself when you're…lonely.' The seemingly innocent remark was given a decidedly dirty connotation by the tone of Elrohir's voice.

Aragorn flushed red and was about to give an angry retort when Elladan intervened.

'Brother is right,' he said, as tactfully as he could. 'Many there are who lust after our sister the Evenstar, but none there are who can hold her heart. For she has vowed to remain a maiden always, and intends to be a maiden still when at last we sail for the West.'

Aragorn shook his head. 'It's not like that,' he protested. 'If I could have but a few words with her, Arwen would know that I am different.'

Elrohir snorted. 'Think you, Estel, that the others have simply waltzed up to her and declared their unbridled lust? I know that the brain of men is a poor instrument at times, and that you tend more to think with other…tools…but I beg of you! Try to think clearly for once.'

Aragorn stood angrily, pushing back his chair. The meal had turned slowly into a dance, and his commotion went for the most part unnoticed.

'I would have hoped, Elrohir, that I would have had your blessing when finally I fell in love,' he said coldly.

'And you shall!' exclaimed Elrohir in frustration. 'But this is not love, this is – ugh!' Elrohir growled in vexation as Aragorn, not willing to listen any further, turned on his heel and stalked away.

Elladan touched his brother's shoulder in commiseration. 'Estel is still young, Elrohir,' he said. 'He will learn.'

But Elrohir frowned as he watched the retreating form of the man they had helped raise from childhood. 'I have a bad feeling about this, Elladan,' he said darkly.

~~*~~

The evening breeze helped cool Aragorn's anger as he slowed his pacing. Although he hated to admit it, Elrohir's words stung. He rubbed at his newly shaved jaw, deep in thought. His wandering steps took him to the bridge of Rivendell. Twilight obscured much of the view, but Aragorn stood looking over the lights of Rivendell anyway. 

A slight movement on the far side of the bridge caught his eye, and Aragorn felt his heart race absurdly at the sight. Arwen lingered on the bridge, alone. It seemed that she too, was keen to have some solitude, but probably not, Aragorn reflected ruefully, for the same reason he was.

He wondered whether he dared speak to her – Elrohir could very well be right. He had known his sister for a very long time…. But his newly won sense of confidence and pride would not be silenced. Aragorn stepped softly to the still figure of Arwen.

'Good evening,' he said quietly, trying to believe that he was actually speaking to her.

To his relief, Arwen turned to face him, and smiled her lovely smile.

'It is a beautiful night,' she agreed, her voice melodic and calm.

'Not as beautiful as you,' Aragorn blurted, and went red yet again. _Three hours in Rivendell, and already I feel as awkward as a teenage girl._

But Arwen merely inclined her head. 'It is kind of you to say so, Estel.'

There was a silence between them that was not completely comfortable, but neither was it strained. It was an air of expectation.

'Arwen,' he began, and hope shone in his voice. He reached out with a hesitant hand, and gently touched a lock of her hair. 

Her delicate hand came up to rest on his own calloused one. 'Aragorn,' she said, a trace of resignation in her voice. 'I think…I think I know what it is you have to say, and…'

He saw the sadness in her eyes – he did not want to imagine it was pity – and hope fled him.

'Why?' he asked, very quietly.

Arwen looked at him, saw the dejection in his eyes, and cursed the beauty which had been bestowed upon her. _I did not ask to be an enchantress of men's minds!_ she thought in frustration.

'Is it because I am not an elf?' 

'Nay,' said Arwen softly. 'Were you elf or man, I would still love you as I do now – as a brother. And were you elf or man, I would still love you no better, for I have sworn by Elbereth that I shall remain forever a maiden.'

'But I love you,' Aragorn was about to say, but she forestalled him by placing a slender finger on his lips before he could form the worlds.

'There is, I think, a great love waiting for you,' Arwen said. 'Such beauty and passion and goodness is not to be wasted.'

'But if that is so, will you not reconsider your vow?' asked Aragorn.

Arwen shook her head, and Aragorn saw in the determined set of her chin that she would not be persuaded, no matter how much his heart yearned to be with her.

'Trust me,' Arwen said gently. 'For you, a love as great as any history has ever seen, will come. I have looked into the Mirror of Galadriel, and I know this to be true.' She smiled at him, and moved to plant a friendly kiss on his hand. But Aragorn looked down at her with pain-filled eyes, and jerked his hand from hers.

'If I cannot have your favour, my Lady,' he said bitterly, 'then at least have the grace not to tempt me further.' 

And saying such, Aragorn turned away and walked off without looking back, completely intent on getting so drunk he would no longer remember his own name, let alone hers.


	2. The Beginning of a Beginning

Well, Ch 2 is finally written, despite distractions like work, electrical storms, seeing TTT a third time round and assorted computer…technicalities. Thank you so much for the reviews! I was awed to see so many – I hope you continue to enjoy this fic and can still find the time to review. Special thanks to Nerys/Beth, who corrected my spelling of 'Elladan' – I've fixed it in the first chapter and will spell it correctly from now on. As you might be able to tell, I am a fan of the movies rather than of the books. I read the whole series for the first time after FotR first came out, but haven't tried again since. 

(Ack!! What's wrong with my spacing? Why doesn't it work?)

~~*~~

**The Beginning of a Beginning**

Slowly Aragorn's senses swam towards awareness, and immediately he wished it did not have to be so. Dull explosions of light thudded behind his eyes even when he had them shut, but when he ventured to open them, the world spun so erratically that Aragorn felt he was going to lose the contents of his stomach.

He closed his eyes again and swallowed hard. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. The wooden floor was blissfully cool, if uncomfortably hard, beneath his aching head. He opened one eye tentatively to survey his surroundings. The wooden cabin was small and sparsely furnished. One rough-hewn table of oak, two benches set into the walls. A foresters' cabin, then; one of many in the woods of Imladris built to provide shelter to those elves who hunted in or guarded the woods.

Aragorn took a quivering deep breath to steady his roiling stomach, but all that did was bring the strong scent of souring elven-wine to his nostrils. He gagged, the double thought of more wine and last night's excesses more than he could bear just then. 

There was a faint sound by the door, then searing brightness filled the room as a graceful figure let itself in.

Aragorn moaned faintly and cradled his head in his arms. 'Shut the door,' he croaked. Then, after a moment of consideration, he added, 'Go away.'

'Such gratitude, Estel!' said Elladan, but he pitched his voice mercifully low. 'Here – I brought you some tea. And something to break your fast with.'

Aragorn could smell the warm aroma of newly baked bread and soft cheese. 'If you don't get that away from me,' he said hoarsely, 'I am going to throw up all over your fine guard's uniform.'

'Better out than in,' Elladan said serenely, but he did take a few steps back. 'I cannot linger,' he added. 'I have the watch till the low second bell. Try to take some of the tea,' he suggested kindly, as he slipped out and closed the door quickly and silently behind him.

Aragorn remained unmoving a few moments more, but he could not ignore the dangerous way in which his stomach lurched. He staggered to his feet, kicking aside the cloak that had served him as a blanket during the night. The trees blocked most of the sun's light, but the faint brightness that greeted Aragorn as he pushed the door open brought another explosion of white light in his skull. Nausea washed over him again, and then he was on his knees, retching violently into the autumn grass.  

He continued until there was nothing left in his stomach, and the back of his throat burned from the effort. He wiped his mouth with a shaky hand, then noticed the shadow which had fallen over him.

'Nice work, Estel,' Elrohir said scornfully. 'I hoped that made you feel a whole lot better.'

Still kneeling in the grass, Aragorn did not answer. Reluctantly, he recalled the night before. Determined to get drunk, he had sought out Elladan and Elrohir. Elladan had matched him drink for drink – _Valar take him, Aragorn thought irritably, knowing Elladan had most likely awoken at dawn for his watch nothing worse for the wear. Elrohir, however, could not be persuaded to have a single drink, which was quite unusual for him. He had sat without a word or movement, as Aragorn had proceeded to get drunk, and Elladan tipsy. _

'Get up,' snapped Elrohir, as Aragorn made no response. He hauled Aragorn roughly to his feet, but supported his weight as the man staggered against him.

Cold anger burned inside Elrohir as he pushed Aragorn back in the foresters' hut. 

'Drink some of that tea,' he ordered. 'That might restore some of your wits – or it might not, seeing how few you had to begin with.'

Aragorn obeyed, because the effort of refusal seemed more than it was worth. The liquid in the flask was acrid and bitter, but it did appear to help. He drank all but the dregs, but at Elrohir's angry frown, he swallowed those, as well.

'What are you so aggravated about?' he grumbled. 'You're not the one whose head is about to cave in.'

Elrohir glared at him. 'The fool you're making of yourself,' he grated. 'I thought you had more sense.'

'You're angry because I love Arwen?' rasped Aragorn, his voice hoarse from last night.

'You don't love her!' Elrohir snapped. 'Stop your childish fantasies. Love – pah! Let me tell you something about love, Estel. Love is an affliction. It weakens the heart and addles the mind. Do not let me see you un-man yourself for 'love' again.'

'What would you know?' muttered Aragorn under his breath, his own anger rising. 'Did you come only to impart your wisdom, Elrohir, or was there a purpose to your call?'

A muscle jumped in the elf's cheek, as he restrained his temper. 'I came to collect my cloak,' he said coldly, snatching the one which had been Aragorn's blanket and now lay discarded on the floor. 

The door slammed so violently behind Elrohir that the little cabin rattled.

~~*~~

Elladan sat cross-legged, eyes closed, palms turned up in a gesture of acceptance. The gentle breeze which stirred his hair and set the leaves fluttering only served to emphasize his intent stillness.

It was not truly necessary to begin this preparation in order for him to touch the mind of Elrohir – indeed, their minds were always linked in the most primal and natural of bonds – but Elladan found that stillness of the mind and body seemed to give keener results.

The mind-bond he shared with Elrohir was as strong as any that had ever existed, but surprisingly, a weaker form of it existed between him and Estel.

_Or perhaps it is not so surprising, Elladan mused. __They are the two I love best in all this world._

Unlike the bond between him and Elrohir, the one between him and Estel seemed to go one way only. Elladan doubted that Estel could feel him, and he had never told the young man that such a bond existed. It was unheard of to be bound such to a Man – as unheard of, Elladan thought wryly, as it was to be brother to a Man. Only Elrohir shared that secret with him – and not for the first time, Elladan wondered whether Elrohir was bound to Estel as he was.

His awareness of Estel told him that the man was submerged in water somewhere. Elladan listened carefully for a moment, but felt no sign of distress. 

His awareness of Elrohir told him that his twin was in the southern practice yard, with Faelnor and Enmarel. Elrohir, blindfolded, held a wooden sword in each hand and was furiously attacking and defending against the joint attack of his companions. Elladan heard the staccato beat of sword against sword. He felt Elrohir's rage and frustration as Enmarel slipped beneath his defence and gave him a sound blow to the ribs.

_Calmly, my brother, Elladan murmured in his mind. He felt an answering thought of gratitude, then fierce satisfaction as Elrohir struck Faelnor hard enough on the wrist to make him drop his weapon, and whirled to bring his other sword in a resounding __SMACK on the side of Enmarel's head._

Abandoning his attempt at stillness, Elladan rose and went to meet his brother. The unabating impressions of bitter anger and frustration troubled him.

~~*~~

If Elrohir's expression was impassive, the agitation of his mount was more than a hint at the sentiment he was hiding.

Aragorn sighed inwardly at that. He was sorry for his rash words the day before, but apologizing to Elrohir could be notoriously difficult. More often than not, Elrohir simply refused to take offense, and if he did, the transgression was usually forgotten between blows. But on occasion, the elf seemed determined to remain in a black mood. 

They were some three leagues out of Rivendell now, but Aragorn had seen no sign of the foxes that Elladan had claimed they were hunting. Aragorn suspected that they riding just to be moving, and that his brother was hunting for something far more elusive than foxes.

Whatever that was, it did not appear to be the lone rider that suddenly crashed out of the trail ahead of them. The rider was dressed in brown and green livery – _Mirkwood, Aragorn thought with distaste. Although he had not been embroiled in the feud between Rivendell and Mirkwood for millennia as an elf had, he had picked up enough to share in the animosity towards folk of the Woodland Realm._

Anger darkened Elladan's brow at the sight of an enemy so close to Rivendell, and Elrohir's rage was held in check only by his brother's strong grip on his forearm. 

Surprise flashed across the face of the Mirkwood elf, and a hint of fear shadowed it. To be caught one against three was to herald certain death.

'Halt,' commanded Elladan, but there was no need. 

The elf had drawn up his quivering mount so that he faced his three opponents squarely.

'It is not a crime to travel the free highways,' he declared, but his voice held little conviction. It was no breach of Galadriel and Celeborn's laws, true, but the long standing feud between the two houses had developed its own rules. 

Elrohir had shrugged off Elladan's hold on him, and spurred his horse closer to the Mirkwood elf's. He eyed the other disdainfully, taking in the flaxen hair and light eyes innate to Mirkwood, and their ensign of a leaf emblazoned in green.

'A servant,' Elrohir said scornfully. 

'A messenger,' said Aragorn quietly. 

A glint came into Elrohir's eye. 'A messenger, say you? Now, what would Mirkwood have to say to Rivendell?'

Before he finished his words, the other elf's sword was unsheathed and came flashing towards Elrohir. Almost carelessly, Elrohir parried with the knife that just appeared in his hand. A quick, twisting motion wrenched the other's blade from his grip, and left a seeping gash on his hand.

'Oh, polite, are we? Since you so kindly offered some sport, I simply must accept the offer.'

Elrohir dismounted from his horse in one fluid movement. Aragorn and Elladan followed his example.

'Three against one?' the messenger said bitterly as he dismounted. 'Ah, such is the vaunted bravery of Rivendell.' He spat into the grass at Elrohir's feet.

Elrohir's fist smashed into the other's face before he had the time to look up. 'Do not think to flatter yourself,' he sneered. 'You are barely worth my effort.' He kicked the sword out of the other's hand as soon as it was clear from the scabbard. 'A human could best you at combat.' A second, powerful side kick snapped the other's head backwards, and he fell, unmoving to the ground. 'A dwarf could.' 

'A dwarf did,' remarked Aragorn lightly.

Elrohir spun with such speed that even Aragorn's sudden step back would not have spared him had Elrohir followed through with his kick. 'Do _not test me,' he began tersely._

Then his eyes lost their glint of rage, and Elrohir began to laugh helplessly. 'Is this Estel calling me a dwarf? Estel, who's swaddling cloths I changed, who puked over my best tunic more times than I care to remember?' He gazed at Aragorn, whose eyes were now level with his own. 'Ah, how quickly you mortals grow up!'

'Just the other day, you refused to believed I was old enough to be out of swaddling cloths,' grumbled Aragorn, but his eyes were mirthful.

Elrohir waved his hand dismissively. 'Come, let us see what Mirkwood would have to say to Rivendell.'

Jesting momentarily forgotten, the three of them searched the fallen elf's clothing. It was Elladan who pulled out an envelope of green parchment, and inscribed with a gold leaf. They all stared at the name written in a precise hand.

_The Lady Arwen Evenstar._

'What trickery is this?' snarled Elrohir. 'What business has Mirkwood with our sister?'

Elladan tapped a finger on his lips thoughtfully. 'It is not so strange,' he conceded. 'Arwen is as much a Lorien elf as a Rivendell one, with the amount of time she spends with Grandmother and Grandfather. It stands to reason that she, out of any of us, might have escaped the feud.'

Elrohir tore open the envelope with a savagery that would have reduced the contents to shreds had Elladan not intervened.

'You may not want to see what lies inside, but I do,' he said calmly, taking the envelope from his brother carefully. He scanned the letter enclosed.

'Well, now,' he said at last. 'This is news indeed.'

_Please accept our most cordial invitation, to you and your company, _

_to attend the betrothal feast of the son of Mirkwood, _

**_Prince Legolas Greenleaf__, and the _****Lady Heleyna Dawnsinger.**

'So the runt is about to bind his love,' scoffed Elrohir, an almost wild laughter in his eyes.

'When is this for?' asked Aragorn curiously.

Elladan glanced again at the letter. 'Tonight,' he said with some surprise. Then he snickered. 'No doubt this fool has been more keen to deliver himself to alehouses than to deliver a message for his king.'

'He must have thought Arwen was at Lothlorien,' said Aragorn, finding, much to his chagrin, that he still blushed when he spoke her name. 'It's probably taken him a week to travel here – and to stop wetting himself in fear at the thought of entering Rivendell.'

Elladan and Elrohir sniggered at the unmoving elf at their feet.

'Well, that was interesting,' said Elladan offhandedly, losing interest in the scene. 'Arwen will be pleased, I suppose.'

The wild light came into Elrohir's eyes again, and Aragorn suppressed a shiver of anxiety and anticipation. When Elrohir looked like that, some wicked scheme would soon be hatched. 

'I do not think,' Elrohir said smoothly, 'that an infestation of Mirkwood elves is an acceptable place for our little sister. Nor,' he said as Elladan tried to interrupt, 'do I think we should let Rivendell be unrepresented at this great event.'

'You are not suggesting…?' Aragorn's voice was faint despite himself.

Elrohir grinned at him.

Aragorn and Elladan exchanged glances.

'He is in a strange humour today,' observed Elladan.

'He is mad,' said Aragorn.

'Well, gentlemen?' asked Elrohir.

'It shall be a night to remember,' Elladan said solemnly.

Aragorn laughed, and asked of no-one in particular, 'I wonder, what trouble will find me next?'

~~*~~

'I will,' said Legolas gravely.

Berethin looked at his cousin in disbelief.

'I will,' Legolas repeated, a small smile playing on his lips. 'And there is no changing it.'

~~*~~

Ok! Legolas has finally entered the scene. Expect to see much, much more of him in the next chapter! (And, um, no, Legolas wasn't really replying to Aragorn – I don't know if you all got that. Oh, well. Explanations in Chapter 3, which will be up sooner than Chapter 2 was! I promise. Please review?)


	3. Promises Broken

This took longer than I thought, mainly because I haven't had a stretch of a three or four hours straight where I could sit down at my computer and write. But thank you all so much for your kind reviews! Here is chapter 3. I hope you enjoy it!

~~*~~

**Promises Broken**

'I have been promised three years' grace,' said Legolas. 'Three years in which no political arrangements shall concern me, no potential mates will be paraded before me – or I before them.' _Three years, I have, to find the one who is my love, and not just my lover.  'I __will enjoy the last of my freedom, Berethin.'_

His cousin snorted disdainfully. 'Your father promised you this? The same one who promised that you would join the archers on your hundredth nameday, if only you would break company with Chryssa? The same one who promised that you would have a war-steed to break in for your own, if only you would stop roaming the woods alone?' 

But even after Legolas had obeyed the commands – for his part was not a bargain, but a command with a reward if obeyed, and a harsh punishment if not – even after he had complied with a heavy heart, the usually friendly captain of the archers had gruffly refused him a place amongst the warriors without explanation, and trade prices that year had meant that no horse was ever forthcoming.

Berethin's voice softened at the look on Legolas' face. 'What was the price, this time?'

Legolas sighed. 'Marriage, to the elf of his choice,' he said shortly.

Berethin was not surprised. Riches, politics, his hatred of Rivendell and his fierce love for Mirkwood were the only things which occupied the mind of Thranduil. Berethin guessed that Legolas' future betrothed would come from a wealthy family with whom an alliance would see war upon Rivendell. _Not a moment too soon, either, thought Berethin with deep resentment. _My arrows are itching to find Rivendell targets, and my knives are eager to rend Rivendell flesh!__

'Let us speak no more of this,' said Legolas. 'I fear it shall be spoken of to the death, when its time is come.'

Berethin grinned impudently at him, but it was more a show to make Legolas feel better than anything else. 'In that case, let us spend the day hunting the foxes in the woods, and the night, hunting the foxes in the palace!'

Legolas laughed despite himself. 'Berethin, you are incorrigible.'

Berethin gave a mock bow, then the two parted ways to equip themselves in their hunting gear.

Legolas' rooms were at the top of the palace. The height gave him a sense of solitude that was his solace from the politics that ran rife through Mirkwood. Most nights he stood at the balcony, staring for hours into the darkness around him.

He was not surprised to find that his chambers were not empty. An elf-woman was folding his tunics, and putting them carefully away in his drawers. 

'Good morn, Elian,' he said. 

She nodded in reply, but did not look up. Her robes were grey, and so were her hair and eyes. The other elves of Mirkwood called her _the Grey One, or __the Weary One, for of them all, she wished the most to sail for Valinor. Elian had lost her lover to orcs, and her three daughters to the feud that ran between Mirkwood and Rivendell. When her last child, a babe of no more than a month, had perished, many feared that grief would claim her. But Legolas' own mother had died at the same time, and as he was of an age with her dead child, she had become his wet-nurse. Remaining in Mirkwood was a daily struggle for Elian, and all knew that Legolas was her last and only anchor to these shores._

Legolas exchanged his court tunic for a hunting one. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elian watching him.

'I think,' she said slowly, 'that you will not have the time for hunting today, Legolas.'

He paused in the act of lacing his gauntlet, surprised.

'Your father requests a word with you.'

'Oh.' A meeting with his father, while not unpleasant, was rarely a comfortable experience. 'Well, it shall only take a moment, I suppose.' It was Thranduil's custom to call Legolas before him, explain his newest wish, and then dismiss the prince summarily. 'I will meet Berethin afterwards.'

'I do not think you will have time to go hunting today,' said Elian again, but then refused to explain. 'Go, go see your father if you are so impatient to know.'

Bemused, and slightly irritated at this sudden change of plans, Legolas headed towards the door.

'Legolas,' came Elian's voice behind him. 'There are some things in this world which cannot be changed, much as we would like to change them. Do not lose hope.'

Legolas shook his head at that, but her cryptic words made the hairs along his arms stir faintly. 

~~*~~

Thranduil was seated at his desk, a scribe by his side and two advisors before him. He looked up as Legolas entered.

Thranduil's shrewd glace took in his son's hunting clothes, his hands unconsciously clenched into fists, his shoulders squared. _As if he were getting ready to fight me, Thranduil thought tiredly._

'Father,' said Legolas respectfully. For some reason he felt the mix of wild fear and adrenalin that he felt before battle. He tried to shake it off.

Thranduil made an elegant motion to the other elves, and bowing gracefully, they stood at ease. 

_At ease,_ thought Legolas_, not dismissed._ _Are his thoughts __nev__er far from this game of politics?_

'We had an agreement, you and I,' began Thranduil. 

_Ai! That is his Diplomat Face! This is not looking good._

'The terms were that for three years, you enjoyed your…bachelorhood. And after that, you married to my approval.'

Legolas kept perfectly still.

Thranduil flipped through the pile of parchment on his desk. 'The conditions have changed, slightly. The Lord Machlen has offered his daughter in marriage to you. It is, I believe, a most satisfactory alliance. The betrothal will be tonight. However, I will hold by my side of the bargain. The marriage will not take place until the allotted three years has passed.' He nodded once, as if that settled it. 'Be sure to wear something more flattering than that old hunting outfit tonight, Legolas.'

Legolas felt as though he had swallowed a bucket of ice. 'Tonight?' he said, his voice sounding strangely ordinary to his ears.

But Thranduil's attention was back on the parchments he was reading. 'Her name is Heleyna, I think,' he said absently. 'Heleyna Dawnsinger. But I suppose you would have found that out, sooner or later.'

He held his breath as Legolas stood unmoving for a moment more, then stiffly exited the room. His breath came out as a long sigh as sharp elven senses listened to the fading footsteps of his son.

'Does he know, I wonder, how hard it is to be king and father both?' Thranduil said, at last. Then he shook his head, and returned his attention in full to the treaty before him.

~~*~~

Berethin would have cursed. He would have flung his anger at Thranduil, then unleashed his considerable temper at anyone who happened to cross his path.

But Legolas did not. He found solitude in his rooms – Elian, knowing Thranduil's news before Legolas, had thoughtfully left the rooms so that he might be alone. He sat on the floor of the balcony, so that the walls of it reached higher than his head, and shielded him from external view.

_Cal__m, he thought. He would deal with this the same way he had always dealt with these sudden announcements of his father's._

He had felt like he had swallowed a bucket of ice. He just needed time to digest it, time to accept it and move on.

But at the moment, his body trembled with the shock. He hugged his knees closer to his chest, in a way that more became an elven-child than an elven-prince. His breathing was rushed, shallow. Legolas squeezed his eyes shut. _Married! I am too young to be married, it is too soon to be trussed up like a sacrificial bull to be offered to whichever ally my father needs to placate!_

Unthinking, Legolas' teeth found the flesh just beneath his right thumb. He bit down, the pain offering a blessed distraction from the anguish he held inside. It also helped anchor his thoughts to the present.

Heleyna Dawnsinger. Legolas searched through his memory for a sense of her. She was slightly older than he; a cold, proud beauty. Her colours were red and silver. But that was all he could think of.

He wondered if she, too, would be this nervous about their rapidly approaching betrothal. Or perhaps she awaited it eagerly, like some did. Legolas gave his customary little shrug. His father was right. He would find out, sooner or later.

_Elbe__reth, why couldn't it have been later?_

Legolas was calm again, but even he would not venture to say whether it was true calm or just the barest veneer over his despair. Tonight, he would be dressed in finery to receive the Lady Heleyna as his betrothed. He should probably have a gift for her – Berethin would no doubt have a ready store of such trinkets to please potential lovers. He would be the dutiful son and prince of Mirkwood.

But for the moment, he would take as long as he could to sit and dwell on his one regret.

He had had many lovers, but no true love. And now, it seemed, he never would.

~~*~~

So here is Legolas! And I feel like an Ent – I take so long to say anything at all. But Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir are on their way to Mirkwood, and Legolas is about to get ready for his betrothal, so now the action starts! Please review if you would like to read chapter 4.


	4. Remember Tonight

It seems that some reviewers are anxious to see some slash action already. I would just like to stress that while this is a slash fic, it is not _just a slash fic. While there will be scenes between Aragorn and Legolas, there will also (I hope) be a plot, and character development, and a reason for their scenes. I also know I am rather long-winded with my writing, and I appreciate each and every reader and each and every review. Honestly, you guys are the only reason I'm still writing this. Thank you for bearing with me while I get towards the good bits. I've found that, apart from the most rudimentary structure, too much planning ruins the flow of my writing. And usually the most surprising (and I think, the best) parts just come unexpectedly. Having said that, I _do_ have a very clear idea of where I'm going, and I promise that the good bits will be here soon!_

~~*~~

**Remember Tonight**

_I am not nervous._

Shaken, shocked, hurt, betrayed, numb, over-whelmed – so, hopelessly, over-whelmed, but not nervous.

_Oh, who am I trying to fool?_

Legolas clung to calmness by the barest hairsbreadth, and Berethin was not helping.

'…proud. She will settle for nothing less than your complete devotion, but give her your heart and she will freeze it until she has need for it in the future…or until she runs out of fresh meat!'

'Berethin,' said Legolas weakly. 

'I think the Lord Machlen is marrying her off as much to be rid of her as to form an alliance with your father. Valar, but she is a cold, calculating ice maid!'

'Berethin,' said Legolas, going even paler, if that was possible.

'If you cross her, you'd better hire the services of all your father's archers, and the Lorien warriors, and perhaps those human Rangers, as well, just to keep her knife from your back. Or on second thought, you might just send for Mithrandir, and have him read your last rights, for I do not think that even – '

'Out,' said Elian quietly. Her hands did not pause in the fitting of Legolas' tunic. 'If you will not help, at least you shall not hinder.'

Berethin opened his mouth to protest, but Elian's unblinking gaze stopped him. He turned to leave, but his younger cousin caught his hand. The iciness of Legolas' hand shocked him, and Berethin squeezed it on impulse.

'It will turn out for the best,' he murmured.

He could tell Legolas did not believe it.

He did not believe his own words, either.

~~*~~

It was dusk. The inn was large; it had been built for better days. A score of people graced the common room and another handful occupied small rooms upstairs, but it was still far from full.

In his room, Aragorn heated the last kettle of water, and poured it into the basin. Steam curled in the air as he stripped off his clothes, letting them fall into an untidy pile on the bed. He washed quickly and efficiently, scrubbing away the sweat and grime of the day.

Elladan and Elrohir had insisted that they refresh before they attended the ball. They had ridden unerringly to the inn, and greeted the innkeeper by name.

At Aragorn's look of surprise, Elrohir had raised his brow. 'We know many things…'

'…which you do not,' finished Elladan, looking equally smug.

They had vanished into the bathing room soon after, and, as far as Aragorn could tell, had no intention of reappearing in the near future.

_What _is_ it that elves do in there? _he wondered. _Surely it cannot take so long just to get oneself clean! Ah, but there are some things I shall __nev__er have the answer to, I suppose._

He towelled himself dry briskly, and, for lack of a fresh change of clothes, wrapped the towel around his middle.

Dusk faded and the first stars shone gleaming before Elrohir unlatched the door which joined their rooms. 

'Well?' he demanded. 'Do you plan to attend the betrothal dressed as you are?'

Aragorn glanced down at his near-naked body, and then at his dirty clothes heaped on the bed. He opened his mouth, but confusion robbed him of an answer.

'Oh, you mortals are hopeless!' exclaimed Elladan, appearing behind Elrohir. Both smelt of scented oils – very much an elf thing, Aragorn had decided. Nowhere in his journeys amongst men had he encountered its like.

Elladan was dressed in black velvet, which shimmered with red when he moved. Elrohir wore the same, only his tunic gleamed blue-black. Both outfits had been tailored to resemble an eagle's proud plumage, and twin eagle masks – one with eyes of sapphire, the other of ruby – completed the motif.

Aragorn's eyes widened. 'Where did that come from?'

'Oh, it's always handy to be prepared,' said Elrohir vaguely.

'We store some…things…here, and in return, direct patronage to the inn. Quite a successful bargain, if I do say so myself. Father has hopefully forgotten about these particular outfits…but it is always better to be safe,' Elladan added.

Aragorn could only shake his head.

He did it much more vehemently when he saw the outfit that Elladan held up for him.

'Oh, no,' he said.

Elladan's eyes sparkled. 'Oh, yes. You will look simply marvellous in this, Estel. Unless you really did want to attend clad in nought but the innkeeper's best towel?'

~~*~~

Legolas stood on the dais, and watched the crowd in front of him blur into a haze of colour. The musicians played merry music, which warbled and skittered off-key to Legolas' ears. The noise threatened to over-whelm him. Legolas let his eyes slide unfocussed. The colours spun brightly. 

_Brea__the._

It was custom for all the guests at a betrothal feast to be masked, save only the intended pair. Only after Legolas and Heleyna had pledged their union, would the others be free to remove their masks if they chose to. Many made a night of it, and delighted in the sport of stealing a kiss – or more – from an apparent stranger.

Amidst the colours, Legolas' eye caught glimpse of a muted grey robe. Elian. She was unmasked, despite Legolas' protestations that she was indeed a guest, and not a servant. Their eyes met, briefly, and Elian glanced urgently towards the elf who stood slightly behind him.

Legolas stopped himself from jumping with a great effort. Lord Celeborn had begun to speak, and he had not even noticed!

'Before I can present the Lady Heleyna,' Celeborn was saying, 'I must unfortunately mar tonight's joy with a warning. Know, that this same warning is even now being announced to your fellow elves in Rivendell.' His eyes, dark and unreadable, looked over the hall of amassed elves. He looked at none in particular, but all felt his gaze deep in their hearts. 'I am saddened by this feud between my brother Houses, between the Woodland Realm and Rivendell. But no more shall your ancient rivalry disrupt the peace of my land. Hear, now. From this time, any who shall take the life of another, shall be banished. In no Elven land will they be welcomed, and any who harbour them will be punished.'

Celeborn paused, and looked again over the crowd, who murmured in disquiet.

'This is my word,' he said. 'And it shall be law.'

Then he smiled, and gestured to Legolas, who still stood like a surprised deer in the middle of the dais.

'My good elves of Mirkwood and Lorien, I present before you Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm!'

The elves cheered, and Legolas felt he was being washed away in a flash-flood. He tried desperately to breathe evenly through the waves of panic. 

_Oh, no. No. It cannot be! How did this happen? How is it that yesterday, I was free, and today, I am to be betrothed?_

'And his betrothed, the Lady Heleyna Dawnsinger!'

Legolas did not even hear the cries of approval that went up at her name, as he turned to catch his first real glimpse of his betrothed.

She was beautiful the way ice was beautiful; pale, exquisite and cold. Her gown was of silver and white, of pure silk and glittering crystals. But it was her face that Legolas could not tear his gaze away from. Her mouth was firm, her chin determined. With her colouring, her eyes should have been blue or grey, but they were a dark, lustrous black. Legolas could see the cunning intelligence in those eyes, and the deliberate way in which they studied and measured him.__

_Elbe__reth! _

He extended a hand to her as she climbed the two steps to his dais. Heleyna Dawnsinger took his hand, but politely and distantly. She extended only the barest feather-touch as, skirts swirling, she took her place beside him.

Legolas stood, not aware of anything but her ice-cold hand freezing his own with her touch, as a joyful elven song rose from those before him. Then Mithrandir stepped before them, and Legolas almost gave in to panic.

_He is going to read me my last rights!_ he thought desperately.

But the Istari began chanting the binding words of their betrothal.

There was only silence when he finished. Legolas could feel his heartbeat racing, but Heleyna's hand on his retained its slow, deliberate pulse.

He knew there were ritual words to be said. 

_Before you all and beneath the grace of the Valar, I accept Heleyna Dawnsinger as my betrothed, and seal my intentions with this gift._

But he could not make the words come, and it was with hands that trembled ever so slightly, that he held up the gift that Berethin had supplied him.

It was a spring blossom, a sweet sprig of jendolin caught forever in the freshness of its first day of bloom by subtle elven coaxing. It hung from a fine chain of spun gold, and shone incongruously as he fastened it around Heleyna's snow-white throat.

Her smile was of pure triumph as she leaned in close to him.

'You are mine now, Legolas Greenleaf,' she whispered in his ear. 'Do not ever forget that.' 

~~*~~

I know this one didn't have any slash. I hope you're still interested in this story. Please review if you would like to read chapter 5, _First Kiss_.


	5. First Kiss

The chapter you've all been waiting for… And thank you so much for the wonderful reviews!! *happiness is a lot of reviews waiting for you when you come online* Thank you especially to those who encouraged me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

~~*~~

**First Kiss**

Legolas pushed his way through the crowd, wanting nothing more than to be away from all this. Away from the noise, the gathered elves, the well-wishers. Away from her.

Heleyna's kiss lingered on his lips. She had tasted bitter as ancient herbs, and he wanted to wash the taste of her from his mouth.

Legolas scanned the crowd for Berethin but could catch no sight of him. _No doubt because he is buried under a swarm of pretty Lorien elves! thought Legolas, a touch irritably. In truth, he longed for some familiar company in this crowd. Berethin was his only true friend, the only one which Thranduil had not driven away. _And only because Berethin is my cousin, and his company would not attract the jealousy and ill will of the other families! _But whatever the reason, it did not make Berethin any less of a friend._

Someone offered him a goblet of wine, and Legolas took it gratefully, even though he did not normally drink it. He swallowed the liquid greedily, welcomed the harsh warmth that flowed down his throat.

'I knew you would like it, if only you would try it!' grinned Berethin, who had offered him the goblet. 

'I _have tried it,' Legolas said indignantly. 'You were the one who bade me drink it, that first time…and we both remember what happened then.'_

Berethin's grin grew even more wicked, but sobered when he saw Legolas' expression.

'Come, cousin,' he said. 'Join me and be merry this night. We can pay the price tomorrow, if a price demands to be paid.'

'Just like the first time I drank wine,' said Legolas wryly. Berethin's irresponsible ways did not ever seem likely to change, and Legolas loved him for that. But Legolas shook his head, a touch sadly. 'You know I cannot.'

'Cannot, or will not?' Berethin asked shrewdly. 

'You go,' said Legolas. 'I will dance a little longer for my father, and then I will see if I can find any peace at all, tonight.'

Berethin watched Legolas go, a lonely figure in the crowd, and even the merriness of the evening could not still the sharp pang of sorrow he felt for his cousin.

~~*~~

The ball was well on its way by the time Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir slipped into the great halls of Mirkwood.

'That is what we intended,' said Elrohir. 'We could not have announced ourselves with the other elves, and now, with a few flagons of wine each, everyone is too merry to care.'

Elladan had caught the eye of a Lorien archer, and the two disappeared into the crowd, arms wrapped around each other's waist. 

'He was a nice catch,' approved Elrohir, who smiling watched them go. 'Haldir will be sure to show Elladan a nice time!'

A red-headed elf-maid danced over to them, and laughing, asked the masked Aragorn for a kiss.

He looked at her auburn curls, and thought of Arwen's dark locks, and awkwardly began to refuse. But Elrohir had sensed his brother's discomfiture, and smoothly intercepted the kiss. The elf-maid gave a small gasp of surprise as Elrohir caught her in his arms, and proceeded to kiss her thoroughly, but soon she had relaxed into the embrace, and was returning his affections with equal ardour.

Aragorn was left to wander the crowd alone, but he did not mind. He was taller than most of the elves there, and his costume and mask hid the fact that he was Man, not Elf. He stood by a pillar, and watched the crowd swirl and dance around him. To say there were many fair elves was like saying there were many wet rivers, yet Aragorn could find none to match the Lady Arwen.

_Stop it!_ he reprimanded himself, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks even as he thought her name. 

He turned his eyes back on the crowd, but his attention was no longer there. So it was that when a lone elf hurriedly passed him, he did not notice until the elf suddenly stumbled, and crashed into him.

Out of reflex more than anything, Aragorn extended a hand to keep the elf from falling. Their eyes met, and Aragorn could not stifle a slight intake of breath.

He was beautiful. It was the only word for it.

His tunic was of soft green silk, the colour of shadows on new spring grass. His clothing was well-tailored – obviously he was of high rank – but he was unmasked, which allowed Aragorn to see the full extent of his beauty.

His hair was pale gold, or rich silver – Aragorn could not decide which. It fell in a smooth river down his back, unbound but for a series of tiny, intricate braids,. His skin was flawless, translucent but for the vivid blush which now marked it. His cheekbones were high and strong, his mouth sweet but grave.

_I wonder what it would be like to kiss those lips. _The thought came to Aragorn unbidden, but once there, he could not banish it.

Then the elf looked up, and their eyes met. The elf's eyes were the blue-grey of a sea in winter, and shadowed with pain. Aragorn never wanted to stop looking into those eyes.

_He is too young, for an elf, to have such sadness in his eyes._

'Please accept my apologies,' said the elf, a touch breathlessly. Despite that, his voice was more than pleasant; quiet, with an almost indiscernible lilt to it. 'I am… I mean, I did not…'

'None are needed,' Aragorn assured him.

The elf smiled at him. It was a warm smile, but rather shy, as if he were not used to smiling, and not quite sure how to do it. 'Then please accept my thanks.' He gave Aragorn another hesitant smile, and slipped into the crowd before Aragorn could say another word.

'Wait!' he called, feeling slightly foolish, but not caring in the least.

But the elf had gone.

~~*~~

Legolas felt as if his face was on fire. _Am I a toddler, to be so clumsy on my feet?!_ he thought in mortification. His heart beat in an unsteady rhythm, and his head swam from the unaccustomed wine. He could still taste bitterness in his mouth, even after three goblets of Quenyan red.

His skin prickled where the one masked as a wolf had touched him. He imagined he could still feel the other's strong, warm hand on his arm. Curiously, Legolas ran a finger over the skin, feeling with wonder the slight change in texture where it had been touched.

Strange; had he not known better, Legolas would have guessed that the Wolf was not Elven. He dismissed the odd thought, putting it down to the dizziness from the wine. But the Wolf had been undeniably interesting. Legolas wondered who he was. He was not of Mirkwood – Legolas would have known him, otherwise. Lorien, then. But Legolas did not know enough of the elves of Lorien to place the Wolf amongst them.

_Berethin would know._

From his vantage point at the dimly lit back of the hall, Legolas could see his cousin dancing with several elves. His father and Elian sat, quietly talking. Haldir of Lorien, who Legolas genuinely liked and respected, was lost in the embraces of a handsome Eagle.

His breath caught, and his heart pounded harder despite himself.

The Wolf was roaming through the crowd, searching for something.

Legolas could not tear his eyes away. The Wolf was dressed in grey so dark it was nearly black. His mask covered his face all the way to the tip of his nose, and his eyes were hidden in the darkness. His movements did suit a wolf – sure, graceful and dangerous. Yet Legolas did not feel threatened. He felt strangely attracted, as iron was drawn to lodestone.

The Wolf scanned the crowd quickly, urgently. Legolas wondered who he was hunting, and felt a hot, uncharacteristic flare of jealously towards the unknown elf. _You are being silly, came the voice in his head, sounding very much like Elian._

Then the Wolf happened to look in his direction, and their eyes locked. Legolas could not see the other's eyes, had not been able to see them even when he had collided with the Wolf, but he knew, inexplicably and unerringly, that at that moment, they were looking right at each other.

'Elbereth,' whispered Legolas, feeling as though he had finally come home, after being lost for a thousand years.

The Wolf strode towards him, never taking his eyes from Legolas'. He stopped just short of touching distance, and slowly circled around Legolas. 

Legolas turned with him, never letting their gaze break, feeling like a cornered deer, but very much welcoming it.

'You are more beautiful than Elbereth herself,' said the Wolf softly. His voice was low and husky.

The Wolf took a step closer, and they stood, a hairsbreadth from touching, but still apart.

Legolas closed his eyes, felt the heat radiating from the Wolf. He took a slow breath in to savour the scent of the Wolf. He smelt of the earth after rain, of the sea and salt and musk. Legolas had never experienced anything like it. 

He felt hands take his face; large hands that were calloused and scarred but gentle. Thrills ran up and down his skin were he was being touched, and Legolas shivered from their power. The Wolf tilted his chin up, and Legolas opened his eyes to find himself staring into the darkness of the wolf-mask. He could not see the Wolf's face, but he could see that his chin was strong, and cleft, and that the beginnings of a five-o-clock shadow had begun to darken his jaw. 

_Ai! A Man!_ Legolas thought in wonder. He had not seen many Men; certainly he had never been in a position like this with a Man. He wondered whether it mattered, that he was so inappropriately close to a Man, when he knew not the Man's name, nor indeed even his face. He wondered what Berethin would think, what Thranduil would think, what Elian would think, what Heleyna would think.

And then the Wolf – the Man – kissed him, and Legolas felt the world disappear around them. He felt… It took Legolas a moment to identify the sensation he felt. Ah, yes. He felt safe. There were no more worries, no sadness, no regrets about the impending wedding.

_Only me, and my Wolf._

_My love._

~~*~~

Aragorn scarcely dared to touch the elf, in case by reaching out to him, the elf would shimmer and dissipate like a dream. He hesitantly cupped the elf's face in his hands, feeling more awkward than ever when he felt the smooth silk of the elf's skin against his own scarred hands.

_Who are you? _wondered Aragorn, _that I could have spent so many years existing and not found you before?_

The elf's eyes were closed. Aragorn could see the delicate blue veins in his eyelids, the way his long sand-coloured lashes quivered. The elf seemed overwhelmed. Not afraid, but pushed so far that he was only a fraction from snapping. And yet he held himself with a remarkable poise, as if by determination alone, he could endure anything.

Suddenly, the elf's eyes flickered open, and Aragorn found himself lost in them again. He stared for a long time into those blue-grey eyes, and felt himself being pulled like an elf to the sea-longing. The elf gave another hesitant half-smile, and it was more than Aragorn could bear.

_I wonder what it would be like to kiss those lip, _Aragorn wondered again, and this time he was determined to find out. He leaned closer, and softly brushed his lips against the elf's. He tasted of spring, of dew and the smell of clover. Aragorn explored the elf's lips with his tongue, then kissed him hard. He was faintly surprised to feel the elf return his kiss with the same urgency. But it felt so right, more right than anything else he had ever done. He leaned harder into the elf, and savoured the feel of the willing body against his. A lock of the elf's sleek hair fell over his face, and Aragorn took it gently between one thumb and finger. He ran his hand down its smooth length, marvelling at the perfection of the elf.

In turn, the elf fingered the wolf-mask which still hid his face, and moved to pull it off. Aragorn hesitated. He doubted whether any would recognise him as from Rivendell, but he knew all would immediately see that he was Man, not Elf. He turned his head slightly, so that the elf could not undo the ties which kept the mask on. As he moved, he trailed his kisses along the elf's smooth jaw, and down his silken throat. The elf gasped, and pressed harder into Aragorn. 

Suddenly, the elf stiffened in his embrace, and Aragorn stopped, confused. The elf hastily freed himself from Aragorn's arms, and turned to face the elf-woman who stood before them, eyebrow raised. The ranger was flustered, and more than a little disappointed, but the elf was incredibly composed.

'Elian,' he greeted her, the slightest hint of regret in his voice.

The elf-woman, robed entirely in grey, curtseyed to him, but steadfastly ignored Aragorn.

'You are needed,' she said simply. Aragorn could not determine whether she was his superior, or servant. She inclined her head to where a two elves stood, gesturing decisively as they spoke. 'Go.' Her gaze was stern as she looked at the elf, but not entirely unsympathetic.

Aragorn watched in disbelief as the elf – his elf – turned away obediently and walked off without a single backward glace.

'Wait,' he pleaded, but it was no more effective this time than the first.

Aragorn turned desperately to the elf-woman who stood, still staring at him with an un-nerving grey gaze.

'Please, my lady,' he said softly. 'Who is…who is he?'

She remained unmoving, and Aragorn found himself taking in the details of her face. He had never seen an elf look so…weary. Almost old. He bowed his head, and was about to turn away, when she spoke. Her voice was tired but still lovely.

'Take off your mask.'

Aragorn started. 'Excuse me?'

She swept her gaze around them deliberately. 'No-one but I shall see. Take off your mask.'

Aragorn reached up, and slowly untied the cords which held the mask in place. He peeled the wolf-face away, and looked uncertainly at the elf-woman.

'A Man,' she said, sounding both as if it confirmed her thoughts, and as if it were a wonder. 'Aragorn, son of Arathorn; commonly called Estel of Rivendell, if I am not mistaken.'

At this Aragorn did jump – he took a step back from the elf-woman who so calmly displayed her knowledge of him.

'How –?'

'It was not difficult,' she said dryly. She cocked her head slightly at him. 'Are you sure you want to know who he is?'

Aragorn swallowed his apprehension. 'Yes,' he said quietly. Then, 'Yes,' with all the conviction he could muster. 'I think…I think I love him.'

The elf-woman considered that for a moment. 'Well. Words are pretty enough, and easy enough to give.' She waved away his protestation. 'Time shall tell if you mean it.' She fixed him with that grey stare again. 'He is Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, Estel. Your sworn enemy. And the newly betrothed of the Lady Heleyna.' She gave him a mocking curtsey, and moved gracefully to join the Prince Legolas.

Aragorn felt despair descend upon him, but he refused to succumb to it.

'I will be with you, Legolas,' he vowed softly. 'I pledge my life upon it.'

~~*~~

AN: Finally, they meet! I hope you liked this chapter, and can find the time to review! Every review means a lot to me, and they are what keep me writing. If ever you stop reviewing, I will probably stop writing – not because of my ego, but because I will think that no-one's reading anymore. So, yes. Please review?


	6. What's In A Name

Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews! It's overwhelming to get so many. You are all wonderful, and I am so happy that you are enjoying my story. 

**WARNING: **This chapter is rated **R**, for a slash scene. It is not explicit, but I am going to say 18+ or read at your own discretion anyway. If you don't want to read the slash scene (it's the third and last scene), please stop after the second scene. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and can take the time to review!

~~*~~

**What's In A Name**

The night had blossomed, and now began to wane. Berethin ran his eye over the crowd in satisfaction. It had been a good night, overall. Even Legolas had looked content when he had last seen him. Perhaps Heleyna was not as cold as he believed.

Something tugged at Berethin's memory as he surveyed the crowd. Something about an Eagle. Berethin frowned as he watched the dark-haired Eagle lead the steps in a complex dance pattern. There was something familiar about the way the elf moved, the fluidity of his movements, the slight arrogance in his bearing.

Then Berethin hissed in outrage. Rivendell elves! In Mirkwood! Berethin had the sudden urge to spit, or to scrub himself clean. 

_Filthy Rivendell elves! Aye, that must be Elladan son of Elrond. Or his cursed twin. Pah! That they should dance amongst us, laugh amongst us as if they were truly more than river-scum! I should send my knife flying through his hateful throat! _

Berethin's hand reached of its own accord to the hilt at his back. But being in costume and not in his usual garb, he found nothing. He growled deep in his throat, hands trembling with rage.

_How _dare _they? At Legolas' betrothal! The last thought incensed him further. _Legolas, I swear it to you that I shall make them atone for this!__

Berethin shook himself free from the arms of an elf-maid, and stalked to where the Rivendell elf danced. _He will not be so smug when his lifeblood colours my blade, thought Berethin with grim satisfaction._

A voice, jovial, but no less commanding for its lightness, stopped him short.

'Berethin!' called his uncle, the King. 'Why the ill humour?'

'Rivendell elves,' Berethin spat, the mere name seeming to soil the air. He jerked his head to where the Eagle danced. 'Lend me but a blade, Uncle, and I will see that the abomination is removed from our fair halls.'

Thranduil's hands clenched and unclenched. 'No, Berethin,' he said at last. 'Let them be.'

'My Lord!' Berethin could barely contain his fury and surprise. 'Surely you –'

'Let them be,' repeated Thranduil, but a dark anger smouldered in his eyes. 'I will not have the peace broken at my son's betrothal, Berethin.'

Berethin glared at the oblivious Eagle, not daring to turn to his uncle lest the same anger be directed there. 'Very well, my Lord,' he said curtly, trying in vain to quell his seething temper.

_A curse upon you, Rivendell! May sorrow fall upon your house and all that you love!_

~~*~~

Legolas was in his chambers, but he had lit none of the candles. _Perhaps, this way, they will not think to look for me here. _Legolas was not sure exactly who 'they' consisted of – nobles, his father, Heleyna certainly – but he was sure that it did not include the Wolf.

He ran a hesitant hand over his mouth, marvelling that, only an hour before, the Wolf had kissed him there. In the darkness, Legolas smiled, a delighted smile which was filled with the secret joy that bubbled inside him.

'I thought I taught you how to light a candle,' a dry voice said, and a small circle of light glowed in the room.

Legolas did not reply. He was too happy to think of even a mild retort.

Elian peered into her foster-son's face. 'Legolas?' she said, a bit anxiously. She had never seen him this way. She almost did not recognize him for the unaccustomed joy which lit up his face. _The higher your spirits, the __furth__er you have to fall. Elian forcefully pushed the thought aside. 'Legolas!'_

He turned his eyes to her. 'Who was he, Elian?' he asked wistfully.

'Who was who?' 

Legolas looked at her reproachfully. 'Him. The Wolf. The one who can make me feel so…joyful. So safe.'

_Safe? Him? Hah! _But Elian did not voice her misgivings.

'I do not think he is the right one for you, Legolas,' she said gently.

'I know that I am betrothed to Heleyna,' Legolas began, but Elian shook her head.

'It is not that, Legolas. Or, not only that.'

'What, then?' he exclaimed. 'I know that he is a Man, and I care not. There is nothing you can tell me about him which will extinguish this feeling within me.'

Elian was silent for a long time. 'He is named Aragorn,' she said at last, her voice breaking a little. 'Aragorn son of Arathorn, of Rivendell.'

Legolas let out a cry of dismay, and the joy fled from his face.

'Elbereth, no!' he whispered. 'How can it be?' He tore his gaze from hers, to hide the despair that stole over his features.

_Oh, my Legolas. My son._

Elian closed her eyes. Each time Legolas sorrowed, she felt another little piece of her spirit die. _I cannot bear to see him hurt any longer! She laid a hand on his shoulder, resolved. _I _will__ not see him hurt any longer! All that I can do, I will do for my son, and this Man that he loves._

'Legolas,' she said again, gently. 'Tell me in truth – is there truly nothing that can extinguish this love between you?' For she had no doubt that the Man loved her son just as deeply, whatever she had said to him.

He looked up at her, eyes huge with loss. 'Nothing, my lady,' he said softly. 'But everything conspires against it.'

'I do not,' Elian said firmly. She pretended to bustle with covers on his bed, as his face lit up with hope. 'Now, to bed with you,' she said briskly, as if he were a small elfling still. She gave him a quick smile as she exited his room.

Alone again, Legolas felt despair and hope swirl inside him. He leapt up, the exuberance suddenly too much to be contained. His balcony was cool and quiet, and although the buildings of Mirkwood did not stretch very high, he still had a good view of the nightscape.

A small smile played about his mouth as Legolas tried the name for the first time.

'Aragorn.'

He liked the way it felt on his tongue, and the way it sounded, both musical and strong.

'Aragorn, son of Arathorn.'

~~*~~

The music and laughter of the ball were muted to a distant hum where Aragorn stood. He rested his head against a cool wall, beginning to doubt that Legolas was real. He had spent the last hour searching for the elf, to no avail. His wandering had taken him into a small courtyard, and here he remained, not wanting to return to the revelry that waited within.

'If it was a dream,' mused Aragorn, 'at least it was a good dream.'

And it had laid his fascination with Arwen to rest. His head was filled with thoughts of Legolas, and his hands yearned to touch him again.

Aragorn sighed and decided to persuade his brothers to leave. He had had enough of Mirkwood.

Then the hairs on his arms prickled and stood up. He thought he had heard his name being called. Aragorn's heart beat faster. He glanced up at the balcony on the top floor, three storeys above. A lithe figure stood, looking out into the night.

And then joy surged in him, unlike anything he had ever known before. Legolas knew him! And, knowing him to be both Man and of Rivendell, still spoke his name with tenderness.

'Legolas?' Aragorn called softly, hardly daring to believe that he was speaking the name.

The silhouette jumped slightly against the light of the moon. Aragorn heard the faintest of indrawn breaths.

'It cannot be!' Legolas whispered, almost too afraid to hope.

It was too dark for Aragorn to be seen clearly, even by keen elven sight.

'If you but give the word, Legolas,' Aragorn murmured, 'I shall come to you.'

Legolas spoke one word, and filled it with all the love and hope that rose up inside him.

'Aragorn.'

The ranger was silently thankful that Mirkwood's buildings did not spiral upwards like Rivendell's. The sturdy plants that hugged the walls closely gave adequate hand and foot holds, but Aragorn's hands were bloody by the time he gained the balcony.

Legolas helped him over the wall, and looked concerned at the cuts, but they were the furtherest thing from Aragorn's mind.

'I cannot believe it is you,' he said in wonder. 'I was beginning to think you a dream.'

Legolas smiled, and hesitantly put his arms around Aragorn, drawing him close.

'Then I never want to wake.'

The two stood for some time like that, wrapped each other's arms. Aragorn's cheek rested on the top of Legolas' head, and he breathed in the smell of sunshine in the elf's hair. 

Finally, it was Legolas who stepped free. He led Aragorn inside his room, where a lone candle burned.

'I want to see you,' he said, bringing them into the circle of firelight. 'I want to memorise you, so that when I close my eyes, I will still see you.'

Aragorn had removed his wolf-mask in the courtyard, despairing of secrecy. He stood, enchanted by Legolas as the elf's eyes greedily took him in. Legolas reached up and traced Aragorn's features with a gentle hand. Aragorn closed his eyes as Legolas touched his lips, caressed his cheek, and smoothed the lines on his brow. He felt the elf wrap a lock of his hair around a finger, then run a curious hand over the stubble on his jaw. The touch sank lower, stroked the smooth skin of his throat and measured the increasing rhythm of his heartbeat and breathing in his chest.

Despite himself, Aragorn made a small noise of desire, and then lips closed over his own, shutting off the sound. He waited as Legolas gently explored his mouth, but then could stand it no longer. He twined his hands in Legolas' hair, and pulled him close, kissing him hard. He paused to see if the elf objected, but Legolas pressed up against him as he moved away.

The elf's hands slid up his shirt, and began unfastening the buttons from the inside. He wanted do the same, but could not make out where the buttons were on Legolas' shirt. He ran his hands over Legolas' body, but, achieving nothing but making the elf smile in amusement, decided there was only one solution. The fine silk tore easily beneath his determined hands, even as Legolas gasped and tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

'What are you doing?' he exclaimed. 'That is Lorien silk!'

'Should I keep you all wrapped up, then?' murmured Aragorn. 'Wrapped up, and untouched, and untasted?'

Legolas sighed at the sound of ripping fabric, but did not protest further. 

His silence became silvery laughter, then gasps, as Aragorn used his tongue to explore the length of his body. They had moved in mutual agreement to the bed, and now Aragorn straddled Legolas' body. The elf's eyes were closed again, and Aragorn saw that he was trembling slightly.

He kissed Legolas' forehead gently, and moved the butterfly kisses down his nose and onto his lips.

'Is this your first time?' he asked hesitantly, and was rewarded by a shaky laugh.

'Not even close,' whispered Legolas, smiling again. He had not had _that_ many lovers – many less than he let Berethin and the others believe – but he was by no means inexperienced. 'But it is my first time with…a Man.'

Aragorn understood the double meaning of his words, and smiled, too.

'There might be pain,' he said softly, not willing to mislead Legolas.

The elf's eyes were huge in the semi-darkness, but he did not move.

'But there will also be pleasure.'

Legolas discovered that both were true, and he also discovered that joy beyond anything he had ever known, existed.


	7. The Gathering Storm

Thank you for all your reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter and continue to review.

~~*~~

**The ****Gathering St**orm****

Legolas lay in the circle of Aragorn's arms. He was still flushed from their love-making, and warm drowsiness washed over him. Aragorn was asleep, his breath slow and warm on Legolas' throat. The elf kept very still, not wanting to disturb the man.

Happiness and sorrow swelled in Legolas' heart until he thought he would burst with it.

'I love you,' he said, very softly to the sleeping Man. 'I have never said that to another, you know. I have never wanted to say it. But I love you.'

Legolas waited. There was no response, only a deepening of the silence. Legolas chuckled wryly as he realised that he was professing these words to Aragorn when the Man clearly couldn't hear him.

An impish thought crossed his mind.

'You do not look so tough when you are asleep, Human,' murmured Legolas. 'Not very much like a Wolf, at all.' He stifled a quiet laugh. 'Your mouth is slightly open. You are clinging to me like a child to his mother. You should – '

'– not allow myself to be talked of like that, by an Elf,' said Aragorn in a low voice. In one smooth movement, he had rolled out of their embrace, and lay atop Legolas. He was heavy, but the weight felt good. Grey eyes stared into Legolas' own.

'You were listening!' said Legolas indignantly.

'I was,' Aragorn said, with a faint smirk.

'That is – That is not –'

'Hmm?' Aragorn raised an eyebrow, and his mouth quirked.

'That is not nice,' finished Legolas darkly.

Aragorn laughed, and Legolas knew he would do anything for that laugh.

They lay there silently for some time, watching each other and the stars in the night sky outside.

'There is but an hour before dawn,' said Legolas regretfully.

'I don't want to leave,' said Aragorn, sounding suddenly very young again.

Legolas traced the length of the Man's jaw, down his throat, along his collarbone.

'Did you mean that?' Aragorn asked.

Legolas tilted his head questioningly.

'When you said…when you said you loved me. And no other.' Aragorn looked so vulnerable that Legolas wanted to kiss his fears away. Well, the kisses would be a start, anyway. Legolas blushed faintly.

'I did. I still do. I always will.'

Aragorn closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the emotion that washed over him.

'And I, you.'

Their lips met, not driven by hard desire this time, but in a gentle expression of their love.

'Father will be furious,' Legolas confessed shakily, a little while later.

'Elrond will not be happy, either,' Aragorn admitted. 'But I do not think he will stand against this.'

Legolas wished he could say the same about Thranduil.

'Promise me,' he whispered, 'that you will always be mine. No matter what strives to come between us.'

Aragorn gave his promise with another lingering kiss.

They knew what lay unsaid between them. Legolas could not – would not – ask it of Aragorn, and the Man, although knowing he would agree in a heartbeat if pressed, was still reluctant to do so unnecessarily.

_You could give up the name of Rivendell. Be not Estel, be not the Son of Elrond, nor Brother to Elladan and Elrohir. Be Aragorn, and be free to love as you __wis__h._

_I _am_ free to love as I wish, thought Aragorn defiantly. He loved Legolas with a determination and a gentleness that he had never experienced before, but he could not so lightly dismiss his brothers and father. _I love them, too_, he thought sorrowfully. _

Unspeaking, Aragorn rose from the bed they shared, and dressed. Legolas watched him silently, eyes huge. He feared than any words uttered would shatter the fragile spell of their happiness. 

And because neither could bear to say farewell, they left it unspoken as Aragorn slipped back into the mournful grey of early morning.

_I will never love the daylight again,_ thought Legolas.

~~*~~

Elrohir arched a brow at Aragorn when he returned, but offered no other comment. Elrond gave his foster-son a shrewd glace, but to Aragorn's relief, did not question him. Elladan was still absent. 

Aragorn was restless, although neither he nor Legolas had slept in earnest the night before. He paced the halls of Rivendell, getting in the way of the servants. He sat with a book in his chamber, then moved to the library, where he read the first page over and over, promptly forgetting the first line as soon as he'd read the second.

Even Elrohir's good-humoured patience was beginning to wear thin when Aragorn wandered over to his desk, and began testing his quills.

'Estel!' exclaimed Elrohir, half laughing, half exasperated. 'What has gotten into you?'

Aragorn mumbled something, and sheepishly recorked the bottle of ink he held in his hand. His fingers were smudged with black.

'That's not going to come off easily, you know,' said Elrohir in amusement. 'Mithrandir gave me that ink, and the parchment it's written on will disintegrate before the writing fades.' He thought for a moment. 'But Mithrandir is in Rivendell now. Why don't you go bother him, and leave me some peace?' He grinned innocently at Aragorn.

'Fine,' muttered Aragorn in mock anger. 'I know when I'm not wanted! Just wait until the next time you want someone to practise archery on…'

Elrohir choked on his laughter.

'You know very well what I mean!' Aragorn said, flushing. He was glad to leave Elrohir and his wicked mirth behind.

He found Gandalf in a lonely glade, in deep study of a tree.

The Istari gave him a knowing smile as he approached. 'Well, Aragorn,' he said. 'Was the hospitality of Mirkwood to your liking, last night?'

From any other, the comment would have caused Aragorn to exclaim in shock, but Gandalf had a way of knowing things he wasn't really supposed to know. He had known Gandalf all his life, but the Istari had become a true friend when Aragorn ventured into the Wild.

'It was,' admitted Aragorn.

'And that young Prince…ah, yes. Legolas was his name, I believe. Was he to your liking?'

'He was,' said Aragorn softly, a sudden joy lighting his features.

'Mhm.' Gandalf's expression could have meant anything. He glanced over Aragorn's shoulder, to where another young man collected herbs some distance off.

'My assistant,' Gandalf explained. 'Grima.'

Aragorn turned to look, surprised. Grima was dark-haired and pale-skinned, and he had fixed a rather baleful glare onto the ranger.

'I do not like the look of him, Gandalf,' Aragorn said cautiously.

'Hmm? Oh, nor I, my lad,' replied Gandalf, still studying his assistant. 'But I foresaw that he has some part to play in upcoming events. And I fear the part may not be good, so by keeping him under my wing, so to speak, I hope to gain some little control over it.'

He shook himself slightly, and looked down at Aragorn's hands. 'Have you been playing with Elrohir's ink, now?' he asked.

Aragorn did not answer, but Gandalf chuckled at the young man's guilty look.

'Pennywort and rue,' he said. 'That'll get it off soon enough.'

Aragorn grinned at him. 'My thanks.'

'About Legolas, now,' said Gandalf, becoming suddenly serious.

Aragorn's expression was guarded.

'I know of the love between you,' Gandalf continued. 'Yes,' he said to Aragorn's expression of disbelief. 'I knew of it before you ever laid eyes on him. It is a great thing, Aragorn, a love like that.'

A forgotten memory came back to Aragorn. 'That is what Arwen said,' he whispered.

'Did she, now?' Gandalf said. 'She is wiser than her years, it seems. A love like yours, Aragorn,' he said, 'has the power to change the course of history. I do not know how. I do not know when. I cannot even say that it will be easy. All that I can say, is _do not lose hope._' The Istari's voice was urgent at the end, and he stared deep into Aragorn's eyes.

Aragorn smiled. 'While Legolas is here,' he said quietly, 'Hope shall not be lost.'

Gandalf did not look entirely satisfied with that, but made no comment on it. 'I do not think Elrond will take this lightly, your love for a Mirkwood elf. I am here, Aragorn, as a friend for you and Legolas, should you need me.'

Gratitude at finding an ally in such an unexpected place flooded Aragorn. Before he could reply, Gandalf repeated his earlier words.

'Do not lose hope, Aragorn,' he warned. Then he smiled, and shuffled away like the old man he made out to be. 'Well, my work calls, I'm afraid. Grima! We are going now!' 

Aragorn was left alone with his confused and swirling thoughts.

~~*~~  
  


Legolas was more unsettled than he ever remembered being. His heart beat unsteadily, and waves of dizziness overtook him on occasion.

_So this is what it feels like to be in love?_ he wondered, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

Heleyna might have something to do with his unease, too. They did not spend much time in each other's company, but she made a show of kissing him thoroughly each morning before the other elves. He could not help but compare her brash kisses with Aragorn's loving ones. And she still tasted bitter.

The sham of their betrothal lay heavily on Legolas' heart. He had never imagined that so much joy and so much sorrow could exist together.

He became quieter and sadder, and Berethin demanded to know what was troubling him. Legolas could not answer him. His cousin had ever been his confidant, but Legolas knew that this time, Berethin would offer no sympathy. He would not understand how Legolas could love a Man, and one from Rivendell at that.

Elian knew, but she could offer no comfort. Aragorn had not returned since the night of the ball, and there was no way to send a message. And above it all, Legolas' betrothal to Heleyna loomed over them like a storm-cloud.

'He will come,' Elian told him firmly. 'It has been but three days.'

'I know he will,' replied Legolas quietly, echoing the conviction in his heart.

But as the days passed, the shadows under his eyes grew darker, and he became more listless, until not even Berethin could coax him from his rooms.

~~*~~

Please review? Reviews make me happy. Chapter 8 "A Welcome Bath", up soon.


	8. Preparations

_**I sincerely apologise for the delay in updating this fic. And I am sorry that this is only half a chapter. I am not totally happy with putting up an incomplete chapter, but I thought you might like something to read while I get the other half done. As always, real life tends to intrude. I will try my very best to have the other half up by the end of this week. I hope you'll forgive this, and enjoy this (half) chapter! Best wishes, Rain Minstrel.**_

I would like to let you all know that your reviews mean a lot to me *s* I am encouraged and inspired by them, and I thank you all very much for them. However, I've also had a few flames from people who simply do not like slash.

I had thought that I'd clearly labelled this as a slash fic. I am actually satisfied that I have put up sufficient warnings. But, for the benefit of people who are a bit dense, or perhaps new to the world of fanfic….

**This is an Aragorn/Legolas slash fic. That means that a sexual relationship between Aragorn (a male) and Legolas (another male) occurs. Yes, a male/male pairing.**

If you go into a bakery, you will find bread.

If you go into a florist, you will find flowers.

If you read a slash fic, you will find slash.

If you read **this slash fic, you will find slash.**

Message clear?

At first I was upset by the flames. But then, I realised that flames do not mean as much to me as reviews to *s* I don't care how many flames I get (although I'd really prefer that I didn't get any), as long as you are all out there still reading and reviewing. Flames will not make me stop writing – the only thing which can do that is if you all stop reading and reviewing! So please, review *g*

Finally (wow, that note was long)… this chapter is dedicated to Botticelli Angel, with thanks for the email.

~~*~~

**Preparations**

_Father suspects_, thought Aragorn grimly, as for the eighth night in a row, he drew guard duty. Elrond was typically more considerate of his warriors, let alone his foster-son. He would normally never have let one elf stand guard for so many nights running, mindful of their wellbeing. But as Aragorn drew night duty once again, he knew that this was no ordinary situation.

He could not shirk his duty, no matter how much he wished that the forests of Rivendell were actually the forests of Mirkwood. And, tired as he was when the sun finally broke through the darkness, he would have gladly forgone sleep for a trip to Mirkwood.

It was not to be. Always, one of his companions would casually escort him to his chambers, expecting him to sleep. And as soon as he woke, Elrond himself would appear at his door as if by sorcery, to ask for his opinion on a matter of state, or to give him a lesson in history, or simply to talk.

Despite himself, Aragorn grew irritable from lack of sleep (for he found that he could not sleep long in the day, even after a full night on watch) and from worry over Legolas. He had not seen the Elf since their first meeting, and had no way of sending word. 

_I have not forgotten!_ vowed Aragorn. _I am still yours, Legolas. And I will come. As soon as I can free myself from this accursed watch, anyway! _he amended darkly._  _

He was alone in the early evening, his ill-temper having created a barrier between him and all other civilized residents of Rivendell. He wished desperately to ride out to Mirkwood, and not return until Legolas returned with him. Aragorn glared at darkening western sky. His watch would start all too soon.

'I suppose you can glare at the sky if you want, Estel,' Elladan said mildly. 

'But I doubt that it will do much good,' added Elrohir in amusement.

Aragorn gritted his teeth. He had not heard his brothers' approach, but he was in no mood for their wit.

'What?' snapped Aragorn, not bothering to look at them.

Elladan smirked faintly. 'We heard about your quarrel with Faelnor.'

'His nose will never be as pretty again,' said Elrohir sadly.

Aragorn clenched his fists. He could feel a faint throbbing in the knuckles of his right hand. 'Are you here for a purpose?' he growled at them.

They moved gracefully to stand in front of him. Elrohir gently lifted his chin, as if he were still a child. Aragorn tried to jerk away, but his brother's eyes were kind. Elrohir and Elladan were often so mischievous and light-hearted that it was easy to forget that they were wise with experience gained over millennia. 

'Estel,' he said gently. 'We know that you have been troubled, of late.'

'And that Father has some part to play in it,' added Elladan quietly. 

'But whatever the quarrel between you and Father, he should not take it out on you thus.'

'It is no solution, to put you on eternal night watch,' agreed Elladan.

Elrohir studied the darkening circles beneath Aragorn's eyes. 'Will you not tell us of the problem, Estel?'

Aragorn looked away. 'I cannot,' he said harshly. There was an ache deep inside him that he wished to relieve, but he did not know how. A part of him wished more than anything, that he could just unload his troubles and fears onto his brothers, so they would solve the matter for him, as they had always done in his childhood. But this matter was his to deal with, and his alone._ I love an elf of Mirkwood._ Elladan and Elrohir could not – would not, if they knew that – help him. The knowledge lay heavily upon him.

Elrohir stroked his hair, the way he had when Aragorn was little. 'You Men grow up so quickly,' he said with a half-smile. He shook his head. 'You may be a Man now, Estel, a fully grown one, in accordance to Men's reckoning. But you will never stop being our little brother.' He shared a quick, knowing smile with Elladan. 'You will always be a child, in our hearts.'

Impossibly, a lump formed in Aragorn's throat. He cleared it roughly. 'I am…' He was lost for words.

Elrohir smiled at him. It was not a half-smile, or a cynical one, or a smirk. It was kind, genuine, the smile that had never failed to make Aragorn feel safe, and comforted. 'Perhaps your problems seem too big now, Estel. But you might find that once shared, they are diminished.'

Aragorn felt a terrible guilt and sorrow inside. He knew his brothers loved him, and he was betraying their trust in the worst way. He had fallen in love with their enemy – and having done so, could he still count himself their friend?

'I cannot,' he whispered brokenly. _You would not speak to me with such kindness, if I told you. And I am selfish enough that I want the love of you all – yours, Elrohir, and yours, Elladan, and Father's, and Legolas'… Always, Legolas'._

Elladan nodded, but a frown still marred Elrohir's stately features.

'So you cannot tell,' he allowed. 'But is there aught else we can do for you?' 

For the first time in days, the tension faded a little from Aragorn. 'Could you…? That is, tonight –'

'Ah,' said Elrohir, understanding. 'Your watch, tonight.' He shook his head ruefully. 'I am sorry, Estel, I should have thought of that earlier. But have no fear, I will take it tonight. And tomorrow night, and any other nights in the near future that Father should appoint to you.'

Aragorn's face lit up, and the twins laughed at his sudden transformation. 'Thank you!' he exclaimed, and Elrohir chuckled.

'Go,' said Elladan indulgently. 'Be off with you!'

Aragorn did not need to be urged a second time.

~~*~~

Legolas relished his current solitude. Although he had not left his chambers for the past few days, the outside world still came to him. Thranduil gave a curt inquiry into his health, then dismissed the matter to discuss the impending war with Rivendell. Elian came and went quietly, going about her business as usual. Berethin laughed at him and coaxed him in turn, and finally settled into a companionable silence when Legolas would not answer. And always, Heleyna came with her insistent, bitter kisses.

But now, he had declared that he intended to bathe, and then retire for the night. The pointed message was strong – he would see no-one until morning. 

He relished the solitude, but yet he didn't. 

_'You showed me what it was to love,_

_I remember, still, your touch_

_You showed me what it was to live_

_A single kiss could mean so much._

_A thousand years and more I've lived – _

_I've lovers held and battles fought_

_But all the things I've seen and learnt_

_Is nothing to what you've taught._

_You've shown me what it is to wait_

_That a hundred days can drag in two_

_You've shown me that my heart can __brea__k,_

_And __brea__king, still love you.'_

Legolas didn't think of the name, too often. It was a sweet pain, when he did. He saved it for the night-time, when he was sure to be alone but for the memory he cherished.

The water in his bath steamed, and he slowly peeled his clothes off. As he pulled his shirt over his head, the world rocked, and he stumbled slightly, catching the edge of his table to keep his balance. Legolas ignored it. His shirt joined the rest of his raiment in a pile on the floor. 

He stood, unclothed, savouring the feel of the night air on his skin. His balcony was separated from the rest of his chambers by neither door nor wall, so starlight filled his room. But Legolas could find no joy in it.

To be continued…sorry!!

~~*~~

Author's note: I know Elves don't sleep. But it works a whole lot better for me if they do, so…they do! *waves poetic license* And…did you like the song? Poetry's not my strong point and I'd really like some feedback on it. Thanks!


	9. A Welcome Bath

The rest of the scene that was started in 'Preparations'. The lines of the song are from The Lay of Beren and Luthien, by Tolkien himself. I hope you enjoy this!

And please, someone – how do I get the center function to work? I write this in word and then save it as html, and so far it saves the format of bold and italics, but not center. I've tried putting the html tags on in word, then saving as html file, but that just shows the tag as print when I put it up. Anyone have any ideas? Thanks!

PS. Sorry for the long delay! I don't so much have writer's block (I know exactly what's happening next) as a shocking motivation deficit! Also I'm back at Uni now. But it's more the lack of motivation than anything. Someone get me back on track!

~~*~~

**A Welcome ****Bath****__**

****

A shadow amongst shadows. Wind stirred at the ivy leaves, and then stilled. Legolas froze. Only his heartbeat began to race.

_It cannot be._

He stood poised, waiting. His keen eyes searched the unbroken darkness, and then he closed them, relying on his other senses.

As he waited, strong arms trapped him from behind. A fraction of a second too late, Legolas began to struggle. He was fast, but the other was strong.

'Don't struggle, my beautiful elf. I am holding you for ransom.'

The voice was low and husky, and even without looking, Legolas knew the other was smiling. He stiffened.

'Ransom?' he asked. 'And what would you take, in return for my release?'

'A song,' Aragorn replied. 'And a kiss.'

Despite himself, Legolas laughed – a glad sound that had not been heard from him in some time. 'You are welcome to the kiss,' he said, and turning in Aragorn's arms, proceeded to deliver.

'You came,' Legolas said a touch breathlessly, a little while later.

'I did,' said Aragorn. 'Did you fear I would not?'

The elf was silent.

'I will always come for you. Always, Legolas.'

'What kept you?' asked Legolas.

Aragorn sighed. 'Elrond. My father suspects, and he does not approve. I have been on night watch since the night after the ball!'

Legolas gave a low chuckle. 'You look like it,' he said, taking in the other's tangled hair and dirt-smudged face. 'And you smell like it.' He did; he smelt of horses, and leather, and musk. Legolas breathed it in. 'I think you need a bath, Aragorn.'

The man began to protest, but the elf slipped away from him.

'As you can see,' Legolas said teasingly, 'I was just about to have one.' A candle suddenly flickered to life, and another, and another, casting rings of warm light around the elf who lit all the ones around the bathing room.

Suddenly Aragorn noticed that the elf indeed had been preparing to bathe, and was standing unclothed before him.

'In that case,' he said, a gleam coming into his eyes, 'I suppose I will have to join you.'

The tub in Legolas' room was enormous. There was plenty of room for two, and still not be cramped. Aragorn gazed at the steaming water in awe.

Legolas raised an eyebrow at him. 'Have you never seen a bathtub, Aragorn?' he said archly. 'If there are no baths in Rivendell, it would well explain why you all smell!'

'And if all your bathtubs look like this, it would explain why Mirkwood has neither the time nor money to govern its land!' retorted Aragorn with a grin.

Legolas looked at him in surprise. 'But this is a normal bathtub, Aragorn.'

The man's expression made him want to laugh, but Legolas refrained, not wanting to offend him too much. 'What do you wash in?' Legolas asked curiously.

Aragorn felt his cheeks grow red. Of course, he remembered the huge tubs in Rivendell. And in Elladan and Elrohir's rooms, especially! But since his time in the wild, he had been more than content to wash from a small basin of water. It was a lot quicker than hauling enough water to fill a pond-sized bathtub!

Mercifully not pressing the point further, Legolas stepped into the tub. The hot water swirled around him, and came up to his thighs. Aragorn peeled off his clothes, and joined him in the water. It was almost scalding-hot against his skin, and pressed against his chest when he sat.

It had been perfumed with scented oils and a dish of liquid soap sat on the edge. Legolas ducked his head under the water, and came up with his hair streaming. The braids which usually held it back from his face were gone, and without them, Aragorn was surprised to find that he looked younger. It made his face less grave, and more innocent.

'You are meant to be getting yourself clean,' Legolas remarked in amusement, 'not just watching me do it.'

Aragorn smirked. 'I can bathe anytime I wish.' He ignored Legolas' raised brow. 'Watching you bathe, however…'

The firelight gleamed on the elf's wet skin, showing the contours of his face in sharp relief. Aragorn watched in fascination as Legolas lathered the soap to a handful of bubbles, and scrubbed his skin with it.

'Let me do that,' he said.

He gently rubbed the soap over Legolas' shoulders, lifting up the mass of dripping, golden hair to run his hands over the back of the elf's neck. His back was smooth and firm, deceptively muscled. Aragorn traced a line lightly from the nape of the elf's neck to the small of his back. Legolas squirmed.

'That tickles!'

Aragorn grinned mischievously, but as Legolas' back was to him, the elf couldn't see that. Aragorn let his hand wander in a feather-touch over Legolas' shoulder, travelling down his arm and then onto his side. Legolas had to stifle a squeak, despite his best intentions.

'Stop that at once!' he demanded, but was interrupted by a giggle before he could finish the sentence. Aragorn's hands had moved to Legolas' stomach, and were lightly stroking the sensitive skin. Aragorn felt Legolas squirm then shudder from his touch, as the tickling became unbearable. The man made his touch firmer, just at that point, but before his hands could stray any lower, Legolas wriggled from his grasp. The soap on his body was in his favour, and Aragorn's attempt to keep the slippery elf in place only resulted in a splash that sent water and suds cascading over the edge of the tub.

Legolas looked at him accusingly, but Aragorn could not keep from laughing.

'I don't see what's so funny,' Legolas sniffed, but Aragorn only laughed harder.

'Neither do I,' he managed. 'But you started laughing first!'

Aragorn received the distinct impression that, had Legolas not been a thousand year old elf, he would have stuck his tongue out at him.

Legolas stuck his tongue out at him. And then started to laugh at the shocked expression on Aragorn's face.

'Come,' Legolas said at last, mirth still bright in his eyes. He dipped his slender fingers into the soap. 'You are dirtier than I.'

Aragorn eyed him with distrust, but Legolas sighed impatiently. 'I am not as juvenile as you,' he said archly. 'That must be a trait of men – or of Rivendell!' 

Warily, Aragorn let the elf move behind him. Legolas' hands were gentle as they moved across his back. He pressed harder, and Aragorn tensed as the Legolas' probing fingers found a stiff knot of muscle in his shoulder.

'You are too tense,' Legolas said, disapprovingly, and with a touch of concern.

Aragorn sighed as Legolas' skilled hands and the warmth of the water eased the tension in his muscles. 'That feels,' he murmured, 'wonderful.'

A small smile crossed Legolas lips. 'I am glad,' he said, softly. He leant over to kiss Aragorn's shoulder, and gracefully rose. Water spilled off him. Legolas took his hair and wrung the water out, watching as the drops made concentric circles in the tub. Aragorn's own hair was dripping and plastered to the back of his neck.

Legolas stepped out of the tub, and wrapped a robe around himself. Aragorn left the water a touch regretfully – perhaps Elladan and Elrohir were onto something, with all that bathing – and toweled himself dry with cloth Legolas had used, then put on a borrowed robe.

'I could watch you forever,' Aragorn said, as Legolas ran a brush though his water-logged hair. He stepped behind the elf, and gently took the brush from him. Legolas' hair was fluid and silky, and untangled despite the water. Legolas purred softly with contentment as Aragorn's ministrations continued.

Aragorn chuckled. 'You sound like a well-fed kitten.'

Legolas' eyes were closed with pleasure. 'Mmm.'

'You owe me a song.'

'A song?' Legolas' voice was slower, slurring slightly from delightful sleepiness.

'It was part of your ransom, elf,' Aragorn reminded him. 'Without the song, I won't let you go.'

'Oh,' Legolas sighed. 'But perhaps I don't want my freedom.'

Aragorn's hands paused in the brushing of Legolas' hair. 'I wouldn't have let you go, anyway,' he confided.

'Scoundrel of a human,' said Legolas lazily.

'I still want a song,' Aragorn said, smiling.

'Only if you give one in return,' mused Legolas.

Aragorn cleared his throat roughly, and mumbled something unintelligible.

'What was that?'

Aragorn blushed. He loved the music of the elves, and knew by rote the words of all the songs. But since he had turned from a boy to a man, his voice was pitifully unsuited to the high, pure melodies that elves sung. The teasing of his brothers had ensured that his participation in songs had been purely observational from then on.

'A man was never meant to sing like an elf,' he muttered, echoing the teasing of Elladan.

Legolas opened one eye. 'What kind of lover are you, if you refuse to serenade me from below my window?' he teased.

Aragorn shook his head decisively. 'Not for all the mithril on Arda, my friend.'

Legolas closed his eye again and pouted slightly.

'But you will sing for me?' Aragorn asked, hopefully.

'How can I refuse?' Legolas asked lightly. Then a pause, long enough to make Aragorn wonder whether the elf had succumbed to sleep. 'What would you have me sing?' Legolas said at last.

'A song of love,' said Aragorn softly, and Legolas nodded.

_'The leaves were long, the grass was green,_

_The hemlock-umbels tall and fair…'_

Aragorn sat, still as the night, as Legolas' voice filled the room. 'You are,' he whispered when the song ended, 'so beautiful. In every way.'

Legolas turned to face him, wisps of his unbound hair framing his face like a halo. He smiled, and ran his finger down Aragorn's forehead to the tip of his nose, and brushed the man's lips. Aragorn closed his eyes at the touch, a soft moan escaping his mouth.

And then the touch was gone, and so was the warm and comfortable presence of the elf leaning into him. Aragorn opened his eyes in shock and disappointment. Legolas stood by the bed, an inviting smile on his lips. He cocked his head at the man.

'Coming?' he said, not showing any signs of the shy elf that Aragorn had known the last time. And then Legolas, as if realizing the forwardness of his actions, blushed, and became more irresistible than ever.

Aragorn was by his side in a heartbeat.

Legolas chuckled to himself at the man's eagerness, but he had to admit, he was just as keen. He had missed the man's kisses so much, missed the scent and taste and touch of him.

And then the world spun suddenly and erratically, and for a moment Legolas lost all sense of orientation. He gasped, and reeled from the unexpected feeling. Only strong arms saved him from crumpling to the floor.

'What is it?' asked Aragorn, concerned

Legolas took a slow, deep breath in. Gradually, everything stopped spinning. 'Nothing,' he said, dismissing it. 'A sudden dizziness – it has passed.'

But Aragorn was not convinced. Legolas' face was pale, and his forehead was damp with sweat. His eyes were squeezed shut against the dizziness, but now Aragorn saw the blue shadows smudged under them, and cursed himself for not noticing sooner. He thought of the ease in which he had gained access to these chambers, unnoticed by Legolas, and remembered the elf's inability to break free from his initial hold.

'Legolas,' said Aragorn, his voice so gentle and worried that Legolas felt his heart constrict. A comforting hand stroked his brow. Legolas leaned into the man's arms. He was almost certain he could stand on his own without falling over, but it felt so good to be held. 

Aragorn carefully picked the elf up, cradling him in his arms, and both marvelling and worrying over the lightness of the elf.

'It is nothing,' Legolas protested again, as Aragorn gently laid him on the bed.

'Lies ill become you, my love,' said Aragorn quietly, and Legolas was forced to look away.

'For how long has this been happening?' asked the man, lying beside the elf, and wrapping his arms around him.

A sudden fear gripped Legolas, and he would not answer.

'Legolas?' Aragorn's voice was firm, and worried.

'It is nothing,' repeated Legolas, but without the certainty he had managed earlier.

Aragorn began to rub the elf's back, in slow, soothing motions, and Legolas lost himself for a moment in the love of the man.

'When did this start?' Aragorn asked him again, softly.

'Nine nights ago,' Legolas answered reluctantly. 'The night of my betrothal feast. The night I met you.'

**~~*~~**

Please, review! Reviews get me motivated, and at the moment, I need all the motivation I can get!****


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